


She's Thunderstorms

by lydiastiles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Related, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Stiles has a panic attack, Stydia, idk what else to tag, liam is part of pack, lydia and malia fight, stiles and malia fight, very very mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 19:22:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2703596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lydiastiles/pseuds/lydiastiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The note is taped to his door when he gets home that evening. 'We will take them. The two of your pack who mean the most to you.' Succinct. To the point. Completely terrifying."</p><p>Stiles realises the harsh truth about loving someone he can't have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She's Thunderstorms

**Author's Note:**

> this is written on tumblr for a stydia-fanfiction prompt, hope you enjoy :)

The note is taped to his door when he gets home that evening.

_We will take them. The two of your pack who mean the most to you._

Succinct. To the point. Completely terrifying.

With shaking hands, Stiles reaches for his cell.

“Scott? Scott, you there?”

“Hey, Stiles,” Scott answers, sounding anxious after he hears the hasty greeting. “Has something happened? What —”

“Scott, you need to come here now — no one’s hurt, not yet.”

Stiles hangs up after a confused and worried affirmative from the Alpha. He swallows and looks back at the note.

Trembling slightly, he reaches out for the smooth paper, his fingers brushing against the part of this that left him the most confused, the most violated —

The biggest mystery is red string taped next to the printed message.

* * *

After Scott, he calls his Dad. Hurried arrangements for police investigations are organised, although Stiles knows it won’t be any use, quick enough. The assassins are behind it, Stiles knew it the very moment he saw what was written. The police wouldn’t be able to help with a supernatural investigation, as much as it pained him to think it.

From when he was a kid, Stiles had the knowledge that the police did everything they could to help people — well, at least everyone under his dad. To be hit with the realisation that they couldn’t help, that they were on their own — well, it was a blow worse than finding out the truth of Santa Claus.

Scott arrives quickly after the phone call to the Sheriff ends, and he practically bounds off his bike as he rushes towards Stiles.

“What —” he doesn’t even finish his question as Stiles points at the note. His eyes widen as he reads it, his eyes flicking back over it several times to take it in.

“ _‘The two of your pack who mean the most to you.’_ ” Scott reads slowly. He turns to Stiles and raises his eyebrows.

Stiles raises his eyebrows too. “What?”

Scott sighs. “Who means the most to you in the pack?”

Stiles swallows. “Oh, uh, I dunno… I mean, you, I guess, but I don’t know…”

“Malia?” Scott asks, slightly tentative.

“Oh, yeah, I guess. That must be who they’re talking about. Yeah.”

Scott looks at him closely. “That must be it, right?”

“Right,” says Stiles confidently, although he feels something unpleasant squirming in his stomach.

Scott nods, and moves back to look at the note, like the decision’s been made. The two people he cares about most. It makes sense, thinking of it logically: his best friend and his girlfriend. That would be any normal person’s answer.

To be honest, the feelings surrounding that definition have been unclear for a while. But now that there are lives depending on that answer — lives of people he cares very deeply about — he can’t help but feel completely responsible for not sorting through those problems earlier.

He shakes his head and turns back to the note with Scott.

“I was just looking… the red yarn. Like the red tape on your board?” Scott asks.

“Yeah,” says Stiles. “Red for unsolved…”

They looked at each other for a moment, silently drawing to the same conclusion.

“We’ll need to call everyone together, like a proper pack meeting.”

“Yeah. I’ll text Liam, Derek and Malia if you want.”

“Sure.”

“We should meet at the clinic or something, if that’s possible. I’m gonna wait for my dad to come back though, tell him not to involve the police…”

“OK. See you later then.”

“See you, Stiles.”

* * *

 

An hour later leads Stiles, Scott, Liam, Lydia, Kira, Malia and Derek at the clinic. Deaton was called out on veterinary business, leaving Scott the keys and his luck.

“What’s going on?” Derek asks as soon as Liam joins them at the huddle around the centre table.

“I think we all want to know that,” Lydia says quietly.

Stiles glances at her, then looks to Scott.

“Well,” Stiles sighs, “I got a lovely note from our buds, the assassins.”

A collective of sharp glances are exchanged between everyone, except Malia, who asks, “Where is it?”

“We have it here,” Scott says, pulling it out of his pocket. It’s more crumpled than it was before, taped pristinely on Stiles’s front door. The red string barely hangs from the message as the group huddles to read it.

“ _‘The two of your pack who mean the most to you’_ ,” Derek reads slowly.

The room suddenly feels too small to contain everyone. The heat crawls up Stiles’s neck like an insect, the silence unpleasant and oppressive. He rubs his hand on the back of his neck and swallows nervously.

“Well,” Lydia finally breaks the silence, monotone and dull. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

Everyone looks towards her. She blinks.

“Scott and Malia. His best friend and his girlfriend. Who else could it mean?”

“Lydia —” Stiles says desperately, though he doesn’t quite know why he’s trying to defend himself.

“What?” she looks straight at him, still deadpan. “It’s not anything against anyone here… It’s just the logical answer.”

Logical. Right.

“Right,” he says, looking at Malia. She gives him a small smile, and he forces one back.

“It makes sense,” Kira nods.

Stiles keeps his gaze on Lydia. He doesn’t know where the urge to defend his feelings came from; the fact was that it was never Lydia who had the crush — it was Stiles. He was always open about that until they became closer, and it was then Stiles began to appreciate the real Lydia. It seemed the closer they became, the less vocal he was about his crush on her. Now, however… well, since Malia was in the picture, he kept telling himself he’d moved on. Lydia had never expressed those same feelings, and while he totally respected that, he couldn’t help but think that maybe she had shared something… just a tiny, little something… Maybe that part of himself, the one that was always looking out for Lydia, had suddenly sprung back into action with all this talk of feelings and protecting one another. Stiles swallows somewhat guiltily and blinks, trying to focus back on the conversation.

“Alright,” Derek says, looking around at the group. “Now that that’s settled, we need a plan.”

“First, I think we need to have full understanding of the note,” Lydia says, business-like.

“I think it’s fairly obvious,” Malia scoffs. “ _We will take two people who mean the most to you_. Pretty clear to me.”

Lydia clenches her jaw slightly. “Maybe to you. But to… others, there’s something else that doesn’t add up.” She delicately points to the red string, which has completely disconnected from the message and fallen on the table. Stiles picks it up, twirling it around his finger, brow furrowed in thought as a pattern clicks into place in his head.

“Everyone here knows about the board I have, the one I use to show all the clues we have on the benefactor?” he asks after a moment. General affirmitory noises come from the group. “And the string to connect the pieces of a case? Green for solved, red for unsolved, and blue… because it looks pretty. The question here is, how did the assassins know about this system? Well, we don’t know. But it gives us a pretty big clue, right?”

“That the assassins have information on us,” Scott says, nodding. “They know our system.”

“Right,” Stiles continues, absently tying the string around his finger as he begins to pace. “It could mean something else, though… like they’re trying to tell us something. A sort of warning? Think about it; if they know the system, then they know that red means unsolved. Maybe this note’s an unsolved mystery, or it will be, like the assassins are saying they’re unpredictable.”

“No,” Lydia breaks in suddenly. Stiles looks up at her, frowning. “I mean, yes, you’re right, but I don’t think that’s it completely. I do think they’re trying to tell us something with the string, but it could be something else. “In Japanese legend, there’s a tale surrounding red string — the red string of faith. According to the myth, the Gods tie red string around the little finger of those that are destined to meet one another in a certain situation or help each other in a certain way. It’s similar to soulmates, you know? Anyway, there’s a link between the note and the tale… soulmates, connection, ‘person who means the most to you’…” Lydia trails off and bites her lip.

“I think Stiles’s explanation makes more sense,” Malia says. “Who cares about Japanese mythology anyway?”

“Malia…” Stiles mutters, embarrassed on her behalf. Lydia glares at Malia, and Kira is slightly pink.

“What?” Malia says. “Did I say something wrong?”

“Don’t worry, it’s alright,” Kira says. “It’s really fine.”

“What did I do?” Malia asks again, and Stiles can feel her looking helplessly towards him but he keeps his gaze on the table.

“No, it’s not OK,” Lydia says heatedly. “Just because she’s uneducated about other cultures does not mean she can say ignorant things and not suffer the consequences!”

“Lydia, really, it’s OK. We have more important things to worry about.” Kira gives her a small smile as Scott puts a hand on the kitsune’s shoulder. Lydia looks like she’s about to say more, but then she closes her mouth and steps back, cheeks flushing pink.

“I didn’t mean to offend anyone,” Malia continues after an awkward pause, and Stiles groans quietly. _Just drop it, Malia. Please._ “I just meant that your idea was stupid and didn’t make sense.”

Lydia goes completely red and drops her head, her hair covering her face.

“Malia,” Scott says exasperatedly. Lydia turns her back on the group and bends over to grab her handbag.

“Right,” Lydia bites out, her voice sounding shaky. “Right, OK. Well, seeing as all I do is come up with useless theories and get in the way, I’ll go.”

She loops her bag over her shoulder and straightens her dress.

“Wait, Lydia —” Scott calls out to her.

“No, it’s OK.” Lydia starts walking to the door, her strawberry blonde locks swishing against her back as she walks. “Just… don’t let Scott and Malia get killed. Call me if you need me.” Lydia’s footsteps are the only sound the room hears until the door slams behind her.

* * *

They waited in the clinic for hours, but the fight went for less than five minutes.

The plan was to protect Scott and Malia as much as they could — hiding out in the clinic was definitely not their best plan, but there weren't many other options.

The room stills as the door bursts open, revealing a group of about 8 assassins, guns loaded and pointed at them.

Everyone stops for a split second before reacting.

“Stiles, get down,” Scott mutters as he begins to transform, his eyes glowing red and claws coming out.

Malia and Kira spring into action, claws emerging and swords whipping through the air. Braeden grabs two guns at once and starts shooting, yelling instructions at Derek who is fumbling for his own. Liam is watching Scott hesitantly but is transforming all the same, determination stealing over his features.

Stiles flinches at the ear-shattering clanging of bullets ricocheting off the walls and he throws his hands over his ears and bunkers down behind a table. He can’t see much through the smoke and debris scattering but the thundering guns and wolf growls tells him that the fight is still going strong. He knows what they’re here for, and something drastic is going to happen unless they get what they want fast.

There is a howl of pain, and Stiles sees Scott fly through the air and hit the wall next to him, the concrete crumbling on contact.

“SCOTT!” he yells and runs over to the crumpled alpha. Scott’s panting, pain etched all over his now human face. “W-wolfsbane,” he croaks, clutching his arm where the bullet evidently hit.

“Scott, it’s alright — this was stupid, we need to get out of he—”

Stiles is cut off as a fist connects with his face. Pain shoots through his face and warm, sticky blood bubbles at his cheek. Stars float in front of his vision, but he bravely staggers up and swings his arm, hoping it will connect with something. He misses, but his efforts are rewarded with a shove to the stomach. Stiles stumbles back, desperately trying to regain his balance but failing. The back of his head hits the edge of the table and suddenly everything is black: the roar of the fight fades into a dull buzzing that rings in his ears, and then he’s gone.

* * *

“Stiles? Stiles! Please, you need to wake up…”

His head is throbbing, especially at the point at the back of his head where it connected with the sharp edge of the table.

“Uggghhhh…”

“Stiles?” He opens his eyes and sees Malia staring down at him, brow furrowed, her fingers brushing over his cheek where he was punched.

Stiles grimaces and tries to push himself up. Malia helps him, looking at his cheek worriedly.

“What — what happened?” he croaks.

“They took Scott,” Malia says bluntly, though she looks concerned. “But not me. I don’t get it.”

“Scott?” Stiles swallows. “This was a stupid plan, I knew it was…”

“At least I’m OK, right?” Malia says. “Maybe they didn’t know it was me.”

“Maybe…” Stiles agrees, although he knows it’s not true. There must be a reason for it, something that they missed.

He stands up, head spinning and legs weak. Liam is nursing his arm, Braeden has blood splattered on her left side, and the other two have various scrapes and bruises, but apart from that, everyone’s OK.

“For someone who didn’t even fight, you got pretty beat up,” Braeden comments, wiping the blood off her arm and smirking at Stiles.

“I didn’t have my baseball bat,” Stiles says, distracted as his brain whirls at 100 miles per hour, possible theories running through his head, all leading back to the same question — _why hadn’t they taken Malia?_

He swallowed back an uneasy feeling that he hadn’t figured out the entire puzzle yet and fell into a chair that Derek offered him.

“You OK?” Stiles asks Liam, the beta still holding his arm.

“Yeah,” Liam looks at him gratefully. “I’ll start healing soon, right?”

“Sure you will,” Stiles quirks his lips into a small grin to the younger boy.

Kira moves slowly over to the table and bites her lip. “I think we need a plan — a better one than last time.”

“Uh, yeah,” Stiles nods. “But I think we also need to figure out why they didn’t take Malia too…”

“To throw us off guard?” Derek suggests.

“It does follow your theory from before,” Kira says. “The whole unpredictability thing…”

Stiles nods slowly as they speak, but at the mention of red string, he suddenly remembers. “Hey, I’m gonna call Lydia, see if she’s alright… she needs to know what happened with Scott, too.”

As Stiles stands and moves away from the group, he hears Malia mumble something along the lines of “she was the one who stormed out on us” to Kira. Stiles swallows and rolls his eyes to himself.

Once his cell is out of his jeans pocket, he flips open contacts and feels his fingers take over to dial the all familiar number. He waits for her to pick up until it rings out.

_Beep._

“Hey, Lydia, please pick up. Scott’s in trouble, but Malia’s fine. I wanna know if you’re OK. Uh, call back as soon as you can, please.”

Stiles goes back to the group, shaking his head. “She didn’t pick up.”

“Do you want me to go see if she’s OK?” Kira asks, frowning.

“Why wouldn’t she be?” Malia asks. Stiles has a feeling he knows where Kira’s going with her statement, and rubs the back of his neck, looking away from her.

Kira swallows. “Well… it never hurts to check, right?”

“What if the assassins come back for me?” Malia asks.

Braeden and Derek share a look. “We can’t hang around here forever,” Braeden reasons.

Liam stands up. “We should tell the police, too.”

Derek frowns. “Maybe just the police who are… aware of our situation.”

“Parrish and my dad,” Stiles says. “Not exactly a police force.”

“It’s better than nothing,” Liam says.

“Right,” Kira agrees, standing too.

“Maybe Stiles, Liam and I could take the jeep and check out Lydia’s place, and Braeden, Derek and Malia go to the police?”

“I want to go with Stiles,” Malia says stubbornly.

Braeden raises her eyebrows. “I don’t care what happens, let’s just do it now.” She stands up and walks to the door, calling over her shoulder, “Derek, come with me. The rest of you, get moving.”

* * *

The drive to Lydia’s is silent. Stiles turns the radio on in a weak attempt to cover it but everyone is lost in thoughts and worry. Kira, sitting next to him, keeps looking like she’s going to say something to him, but then bites her lip and leans back into the chair, falling back into thought.

Stiles knows the route to Lydia’s almost as well as his own. All the supernatural investigations he’s done with her there… he swallows back a bitter taste at the thought that something could’ve happened to her.

But it wouldn’t have. Not Lydia.

They park the jeep and Stiles immediately gets out, ignoring the crispness of the cool night air and races to the door.

He knocks. “Lydia?” he calls. “You there?”

They wait, but there’s no answer. Stiles looks over and sees her car parked in the garage. He looks to Kira, who frowns at him.

“Lydia? If you’re there, I’m coming in!”

He opens the unlocked door and walks in. Everything seems eerily silent, except for the footsteps of Liam, Kira, Malia and himself. 

Stiles speeds up his pace. He checks the living room and the kitchen on the way to Lydia’s bedroom, heart thumping. He hopes with all his heart that at any moment she’s going to walk out of the bathroom, looking pissed that he walked in like he did. But the uneasy feeling is still lurking, and it hasn’t stopped since this entire note debacle began.

Kira catches up to him as he passes the bathroom, the door wide open. She touches his arm lightly as they continue walking, reaching her bedroom door.

Stiles takes a deep breath and pushes the already ajar door fully open, the rest of them catching up behind him. He sucks in a sharp breath at what he sees.

The usually fairly tidy bedroom is a disaster. Her bookshelf has fallen over, leaving books scattered across her floor. Various possessions are knocked over, and there’s a dent in the wall where there wasn’t before.

“Oh my God,” Kira says under her breath.

Liam’s eyes are wide. “They got her…” he says, hushed.

“I don’t get it,” Malia says, frowning. “Why did they take her?”

Stiles feels his entire body go slack, his mind whirring and spinning and thinking way too fast for the rest of him to catch up. His heart speeds up, everything in front of him suddenly in slow motion.

“Stiles,” Kira puts a hand on his shoulder.

He turns to look at her. “It’s my fault,” he gets out, his breaths becoming sharp.

“No,” she says firmly. “Come on, Stiles. It’s all of our faults. We _all_ should’ve made sure she was OK.”

He closes his eyes, trying to slow the panic burning in his chest. He knows a panic attack when it’s coming on, and the surreality of it needs to pass before he can calm down. Normality and distraction. Normality is not Lydia’s destroyed room.

He takes a deep breath again, trying to ignore Malia slowly putting the pieces together.

“Wait… they took Lydia, not me…”

“Yes, Malia,” Kira says softly. “They did.”

A hand lands on his shoulder. He opens his eyes to see Liam. “Hey, Stiles, you OK?”

Stiles nods, focussing on the events happening now rather than the mess of emotions that are internally bubbling over.

“I will be in a sec,” he gives a small smile. It occurs to him that Liam might not be so unfamiliar to not being able to hold on all the time. Liam claps his shoulder and returns the smile.

“Come on,” Kira says, glancing at Malia’s intensifying scowl and Stiles’s pale face. “Let’s take this downstairs and call Derek and the Sheriff.”

* * *

Malia bursts as soon as they reach the living room.

“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you, Stiles! We specifically talked about her, and you said nothing was there, and nothing ever was.”

Kira and Liam are in the other room, on the phone to Derek, Malia tugging him aside at the first opportunity.

“Malia, please, not now,” he says tiredly, rubbing his head tenderly. It’s still throbbing and aching, especially the points where he was hit.

“Do you really care more about her than me?” she asks. Stiles closes his eyes and sighs, rubbing his eyes.

“You do? I can’t believe you.”

“Malia, there’s a lot of history between me and Lydia, OK? Can you please drop it!”

“So much history that she’s more important to you than your girlfriend?”

“Yes!” Stiles yells. “Yes, Malia!”

He moves away from her. “I think you’re being kinda selfish about this, actually. Lydia and Scott are in life-threatening danger, OK, and it’s because of me. So please, sue me if I’m not that interested in sorting out relationship issues.”

“I’m the one being selfish?” she scoffs.

Stiles sighs and sits down in a chair across from her. “Look, Malia, if you haven’t noticed, the people I care about always seem to get hurt,” he says quietly, “and it’s usually because of me. So I’m sorry that this happened, but you can’t let one thing define — well, everything. Please, just…” he trails off and sighs.

“Just what?” Malia demands. “Forget this happened? Well, I’m not going to. You lied to me, Stiles. Again. You lied about the deadpool, and Peter, and now you’ve lied about this.”

“I’m not saying you should forget,” Stiles sighs again. “I’m saying can you just put your feelings aside for a few hours to help me find Lydia and Scott, and then you can get as angry at me as you want!”

“No,” she says stubbornly, crossing her arms.

Stiles rolls his eyes disbelievingly. “Right,” he says, standing again. “You can just sit here, then, and sulk, while the rest of us do something meaningful.”

He turns his back on her and walks out the door, Liam and Kira waiting at the jeep.

* * *

Malia didn’t follow them. Stiles feels something between them disappear, a string pulled too tight. Kira had asked if Malia was following, and Stiles replied, “If she’s out the front door by the time we’re ready to go, wait for her. If she’s not, then keep going.”

She didn’t follow them. So they kept going.

They drove to the station, where the Sheriff had given the obligatory Stilinski hug as soon as he had entered the station, Stiles reciprocating just as enthusiastically.

“You OK?” the Sheriff asks concernedly, frowning at his bruised cheek.

“I don’t know,” Stiles says tiredly. “I just want to find them.”

“We’ve got an entire team out looking for them,” his dad beckons him to follow. He looks around, then adds in a lower note, “there’s something supernatural about this, isn’t there?”

Stiles shrugs. “I actually don’t know. The people involved definitely know about all that stuff, but the tactics they used weren’t supernatural at all. Except for the wolfsbane, but it’s not like they grew claws or anything. They used guns.”

“Right.” The Sheriff rubs his forehead, frowning. “That makes it easier for me.”

Stiles nods absently.

“Hey,” his dad says quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder, “we’ll find them, OK?”

“I know you will,” says Stiles heavily. “I just hope you find them alive.”

* * *

The next few days were unbearable. He could barely make himself move through the motions of school and normal life without them — especially with Malia avoiding his glances, turning away and walking off obviously, as if to make a point. Not a word had been spoken between them since he had left Lydia’s house.

So many thoughts were plaguing his mind… thoughts concerning Lydia, mainly.

He thought he had a justifiable reason. He thought he could get away with not thinking about things concerning her. He ignored the hurt and the pain that thinking of her brought, buried it under half-hearted claims of ‘moving on’.

This was not moving on. This was his fault.

The bell rung loudly, jolting Stiles out of his thoughts.

“Stilinski?” Coach calls to him as the rest of the class mills out, slightly less obnoxiously than usual.

Stiles pauses in the middle of packing up his things to look up at the teacher. “Yes, Coach?”

“Did you take in any of my lesson?” he asks accusingly, standing over the desk.

Stiles swallows, “Uh, well…”

Coach sighs. “It’s alright, kid. I understand.”

Stiles eyes him warily.

“They’ll find McCall soon,” Finstock goes on. “He’ll be in that chair by next week.” He points to the seat next to Stiles, raises his eyebrows meaningfully, then claps him on the shoulder and moves away.

“Thanks, Coach,” Stiles says, trying not to let sarcasm creep into his tone. He zips up his pencil case and walks out of the class as quickly as he can without seeming rude.

As soon as he’s out, he checks his phone again — a habit he’s picked up in the past four days. Nothing.

Liam is suddenly at his side. “Is there —”

“Nothing,” Stiles says wearily.

“Do you want me to… I don’t know, track them?”

“Derek’s already tried,” Stiles says. “Their scent disappears at the edge of Beacon Hills.”

Liam sighs.

“It’s alright, Liam,” Stiles tries to smile. “Go to class, you’ll be late.”

Liam looks like he wants to stay, but then nods and walks on.

Stiles is in the process of putting his phone in his pocket when it rings. He whips it into his hand to look at the caller ID. _Dad._

He answers it, heart thumping.

“Dad?” he asks immediately. “Is there —”

“We found them, Stiles,” his Dad interrupts, and Stiles can hear the grin in his voice. “They’re a little beat up, but nothing serious. They’re going to be fine.”

Stiles can do nothing but sigh of relief and put a hand to his head, oblivious to the strange looks around him. Tears of happiness well at his eyes and he laughs freely for the first time in days.

They’re safe. They’re safe.

* * *

Stiles waits at the hospital in the emergency area with Melissa McCall, her arm around his shoulders in a motherly gesture. He leans into her like he used to when he was a kid and can’t help but feel anything but giddy happiness, ignoring the dark thoughts of a few hours ago.

He sees them being wheeled in on stretchers, and he and Melissa both stand up and rush to them. They move too fast to look properly, but he catches small details: a limp lock of strawberry blonde hair, a purple bruise bright against pale skin, a blood stain on a pale t-shirt. They’re through the doors into a hospital room in a few seconds.

“I thought Dad said they’re fine?” Stiles all but whispers.

“They will be,” Melissa says softly. “They’re probably sleep deprived, and suffering a few injuries that’ll heal up in the next few weeks — or next few days, for Scott.”

“Yeah,” says Stiles vaguely, the image of Lydia’s pale face with bruises and blood scattering her face imprinted into his brain.

Melissa looks at him sadly. “C’mon,” she says, putting her arm around his shoulder again. “Let’s find your dad.”

* * *

It’s not the Sheriff they find — Parrish is the one sitting in the waiting room, sitting up tense and alert.

He looks up instantly when they sit down, and immediately asks, “Is she OK?”

Stiles feels something stir in his stomach when he asks this, and lets Melissa answer. “They’re both fine, but they’re out for a few more hours, I think.”

He nods and sinks into the seat a little, relieved. “I went to get her. I was responsible for her safety, and then I lost her. I thought…” he trails off, and swallows.

“But she’s OK now,” Melissa reassures him. “You did good, Deputy.”

He gives her a small smile, and then his radio goes off and he excuses himself. He doesn’t come back.

Lydia’s mum joins the group around three, wearing stilettos and a worried frown. She is permitted to go straight through to see Lydia, and she doesn’t come back out. Kira comes at four, until her mother drags her away at five thirty (not without some very loud arguing). Derek and Liam make an appearance, but both leave after they find out the situation is OK. Melissa still stays with Stiles, which strikes him as odd.

“Why are you staying with me?” he asks her at one point.

“You shouldn’t be here alone,” she replies simply. “Scott’s in good hands.”

They sit in silence for a while, Melissa leaving once to get a coffee. Stiles stares at the clock, watching the hours tick by; 4 pm… 7.30… 9…

Finally, a nurse comes out.

“The general anaesthesia will be wearing off in the next half an hour. Family members only are permitted to visit in Room 17 —”

“Can Stiles come anyway?” Melissa asks pleadingly. The nurse shakes his head. “Rules are rules, Melissa…”

“It’s just Stiles,” she says. “They’re not going to die. And I work here.”

The nurse sighs in defeat. “Don’t tell the Boss.”

“Thanks, Edmund,” Melissa grins, and they make their way to Room 17.

* * *

Lydia’s mum is holding her hand as she wakes up. Her eyes open and she groans, eyelids fluttering gently as she tries to take in where she is.

“Mom?” she croaks, turning her head to her right.

“Oh Lydia,” her mum whispers, tears forming in her eyes.

“Mom, it’s OK. I remember now. They told me I was alright, that it was just an anaesthetic they were putting me under.”

“I know,” her mum says. “I just missed you.”

She bends down to hug her daughter, and Stiles looks away, feeling intrusive on the moment.

From next to him, there’s more stirring as Scott begins to wake up.

“Scottie?” Stiles asks quietly. “Stiles?” Scott makes out, his hoarse voice barely a whisper.

Melissa puts a hand on his face. “Hey, buddy,” she smiles, fully and happily. Stiles begins to grin too, looking between Scott and Melissa.

The door bursts open, and Agent McCall runs into the room, looking flustered and concerned.

“I came as soon as the bastards let me go —”

“Shh,” Melissa says quietly, “he’s waking up.”

Stiles watches Agent McCall closely as he moves to beside Scott’s bed. He knows how much hurt the man in front of him caused Scott, knows the scars it left. A large part of him resents the man for what he did to his friend and the grief he caused his own dad a few months ago, but he can’t help but notice the absolute concern on his face, the tender care that he’s seen on his own father’s face so many times, Melissa’s face, his mother’s face —

He cuts off the thought, ice suddenly slicing through his heart. He looks back to Scott, his pale face awake and confused.

“Deaton won’t be happy about the clinic,” Scott groans.

Stiles grins at Scott, the warmth returning as he looks at his best friend.

“It’s good to have you back, McCall.”

* * *

Scott and Lydia are released two days after they wake up.

Stiles has already visited Scott as many times as is permitted, and though he’s talked a bit to Lydia, he hasn’t had the chance to fully talk through the many things he needs to.

So, the afternoon they’re released, he makes his way in his jeep to Lydia’s house. It’s a lively Saturday evening, the sun setting peacefully, turning the sky beautiful shades of powder blue and pale orange.

He pulls into her drive and knocks on the front door. After greeting Lydia’s mum pleasantly, he makes his way up to her room and knocks again.

“Come in,” Lydia says, muffled through the door.

She’s lazing on her bed in grey trackies, hair spilling out over her bed around her, unbrushed and messy. She has earphones in and is staring intently at her computer. Stiles thinks she hasn’t ever looked more beautiful. 

She looks up and gasps. “Stiles! I wasn’t expecting you…”

“Yeah,” he smiles at her. “Hi.”

She blushes and sits up, earphones falling out, computer discarded. “Hi,” she says softly, inviting him to sit next to her. He sits and sighs.

“Lydia,” he says. “There’s so much I want to say right now, and I had it all planned out — but basically, I just wanted to —”

“Stiles,” Lydia interrupts. “There’s so much I want to tell you, too — about what happened, about us —” she pauses. “But do you think, just maybe, we could wait?”

Stiles looks at her and nods slowly. “Wait. Yeah, I could do that. Just a little longer.”

She bites her lip, looking at him, and Stiles looks at her. They lean into each other, and he entangles his arms in her flowery hair and petite frame, her steady heart beating against his, alive and wonderful and beautiful. Her arms are warm around his waist, her face buried into his shoulder.

He understands that waiting is all he can do right now, just for a little longer. But right now, he thinks, inhaling her scent — no perfume, no makeup, just _her_ — waiting seems like the easiest thing in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> please comment if you liked, thanks x


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